


if you're gonna walk on water (could you drop a line my way?)

by Murf1307



Series: Valentine’s Day 2018 Fic Storm #1 — For My Gullfriend [4]
Category: Ghostfacers - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Ghosts, Haunting, M/M, Spirit Box, partially canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: A boy, a ghost, and a love story in Middle America.





	if you're gonna walk on water (could you drop a line my way?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gullapip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gullapip/gifts).



> Canon-compliant through Season 5/the Ghostacers Web Series. 
> 
> Written for Gull. Five years for us, and here's to many more!

The thing is, it never could have gone another way.  

And that’s not even an excuse — not some rationalization for why he’s doing this, why he’s thrown over his whole life to roll down highways in what  _ he himself _ would call flyover country.

It’s just that, while the truth may set you free, when you  _ know it _ , you have to do something.  And he more than knows the truth — it’s bled all over him, stared into his eyes and been buried or burned or sent away in tears.  It’s not  _ about _ the fame or the glory anymore, or even, really, about the love.

For Ed, it’s realizing that if the world is full of monsters, and you don’t have the one thing that could make it bearable, well.  You have to cope somehow, right?

He thinks, sometimes, about the Winchester brothers, and the whispers that circle among hunters about why they fight.  About the things that they  _ almost _ did, the way the world  _ almost _ ended.

Ed’s pretty sure he gets it.  Most hunters do.

Everybody’s lost somebody, so they all blow through towns and burn ghosts and stake vampires and all of that shit, because it’s the only thing left to do when love has died in front of you.

Maggie and Harry think he’s lost it.  But, then, they have each other, and Ed’s happy for them, when he remembers how to be.  

Ambyr...the last time they spoke, her voice was still raspy, but she had steel in her eyes.  Maybe she’ll wind up like him, someday, getting her own vengeance.  That would be nice — after all, she’s the one who lived.

All Ed has left is the lingering scent of French vanilla and coffee; a brief chill; very occasionally, a door opening when it shouldn’t be able to.

He talks, sometimes, thinking, if he’s haunted, he might as well show that he knows.

“Ugh, Corbett,” he mumbles, collapsing into a motel bed, his gun half-falling out his hip holster.  “This one’s just...All I know is that it’s a ghoul, you know?  It should be simple.”

He lets the silence hang for a while; if Corbett can hear him, Ed at least wants to give him the chance to talk back, even if Ed can’t hear it.  

In the silence, a few pages ruffle, and Ed looks over at the newspaper on the table.  The obituaries section, which it definitely hadn’t been turned to before.  Had he even  _ had _ today’s paper before he went out this evening?

“Okay, okay, I’ll look.  Don’t...overexert yourself, okay?  I can’t tell when you’re too exhausted to be here, you know.”  He sits up, and then feels a weight push against his shoulder.  He sighs.  “I know I’m supposed to go to sleep.  But you know it’s gonna bug me, now that I’m thinking about it.”

The weight vanishes, replaced by a waft of French vanilla that somehow manages to  _ smell _ disappointedly resigned.

He goes over to the table, and tries not to think about how his only companion is a ghost.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard, not being in a body.  He’s gotten used to it in the four years he’s been dead, but there’s a thousand things he’d rather be able to do than the two or three things he can do that living people can’t.

Corbett still isn’t quite sure why he’s keyed into Ed the way he is.  Every time he overexerts himself and blacks out, he comes to right beside wherever Ed is.  Sometimes, a couple hundred miles away from where they last were working.  But it’s undeniably useful, he thinks.

And it helps, really, that Ed  _ talks _ to him.  Sometimes, he even talks back, even though he knows Ed can’t hear him.

“I’m not going to overdo it this time,” he insists, when Ed is trying to get at the newspaper.  “And I know it bothers you, not knowing things.  You wouldn’t be doing this if you were okay with not knowing.”

He wishes he had a better way of communicating than gently pushing things around every now and then, and, apparently, exuding the scent of French vanilla coffee.

Ed reads until he falls asleep right there at the table, and Corbett sighs.  

If he had a body, he’d be able to put Ed to bed.  As it stands, it takes almost all of his strength to drag a thin blanket over from the bed to cover his shoulders.

But he does it.  Because if he isn’t there for Ed, if he doesn’t make sure he’s all right, nobody will.

And  _ that _ would be a tragedy.

 

* * *

 

After he showers the next morning, he finds a message written in condensation on the bathroom mirror.

_ ED. _

_ Try HDM. _

_ Love you _

_ AJC. _

It takes him a minute to get past stunned disbelief as he takes in the message.  Help with the case,  _ and _ Corbett still loves him?  It seems beyond description.

When he’s got clothes on again, he carefully heads out of the bathroom and calls out, “Corbett?  Can you hear me?”

The window is closed, but a breeze blows past his ear very briefly.

“I got your message,” he says, a lump in his throat.  “Um.  Thanks.  And, uh — I mean, you probably know this already, but...I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

If he still was breathing, he would’ve gasped.  As it stands, he freezes where he is, a few feet away from Ed.  He’d almost not written it down, worried about making Ed feel guilty for having him around.

But Ed, apparently, loves him back.

He moves toward him and, doing his best given the circumstances, holds one of Ed’s hands in both of his.  “I love you.  Ed, god, I wish you could hear me right now.”

He leans against Ed, who shifts a little. His other hand comes up up, and Corbett can feel it against his back, even when it dips in a little bit — it’s a weird feeling, like how he always imagined clipping in a video game — and for just a moment, it almost feels like they can really be together.

“I feel like we should probably have, like, an actual talk about this.  And I’m sure as shit not getting a spirit board, so…” Ed swallows.  “I think I still have that spirit box, though, and an EVP recorder.  Do you think that might help?”

He squeezes Ed’s hand again.  “Yeah, I want you to hear me, too.”

 

* * *

 

It almost hurts to pull away from the cold spot.

Ed’s been grieving a love he thought he’d really lost — because why would Corbett love him like  _ this? _  He’s seen him at his absolute worst, after all.

But he wants to talk to Corbett, really talk to him, and that means moving over to his tech duffel bag.  He digs through it and comes up with the box, some batteries, and an external speaker.  He sets it up on the table and sits down, setting up the other chair at a reasonable angle for an actual conversation.

When it’s all ready, he flicks it on, and the white noise scratches through the air.

“Okay, so, uh, we’re gonna have to experiment with this until it works, right?” He says.

A moment, and then, from the box: “ _ Yes. _ ”

He laughs, surprised.  “Hey, do that again?  We gotta be sure.”

“ _ Ed.  You know … I’m here.”  _ There’s a crackling pause.   _ “Love. _ ”

Ed’s heart swells in his chest at the final word.  It’s clearly working, and so, he says, “Love you too, Corbett.”  He takes a breath.  “Is this — is it tiring for you?”

Crackling for another long moment.  “ _ Not really.  Easier… touching it. _ ”

“That’s fascinating.  It’s not picking up  _ everything _ you say, either.  But if it’s, if it’s working…” He grins a little.  “We could just, you know.  Leave it on when we’re alone like this.  Chat a little.”

“ _ I’d like that. _ ”

 

* * *

 

Corbett is  _ giddy _ after the successful spirit box session.  It really isn’t tiring to talk that way, especially if he’s touching the box when he does.  And Ed can hear  _ most _ of what he’s saying.

And Ed  _ loves _ him.  They love each other.

They’re in love.

And sure, it’s taken five years to get here, including the time before he died, but they’re here now.  They’re in love, and they can talk to each other.

Soon after that, Corbett realizes he’s getting stronger.  Things that exhausted him before — writing on mirrors, pulling out chairs, making a cup of coffee — are doable now, and he wonders if this is what happens when ghosts last as long as he has so far.

Maybe that’s why the old ghosts are so strong.

But he thinks it might be more than that, too, stretched out alongside Ed one night in the back of Ed’s van.  After all, he’s haunting a person, not an object or a place, and maybe the rules are different?

He doesn’t know.  

Ed stirs next to him.  “Corbett?  Babe?”

The spirit box is off, and Corbett wraps an arm around Ed instead, kissing his cheek and making sure to exert pressure, not just cold air.  “I’m right here,” he promises.

And, if he has his way, he’ll be right alongside Ed for the rest of his life.


End file.
